


Someone Moved my Stapler

by Summertime_Queen



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Asexual Relationship, Attempt at Humor, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Humor, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-11 15:04:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19930039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Summertime_Queen/pseuds/Summertime_Queen
Summary: Set after the Apocolypse-That-Wasn't, Aziraphale spends his spare time rearranging the bookshop to account for Adams presents, and trying new lunch spots with Crowley.Just something cute (I hope) I've thrown together when I should be sleeping. Assumes the Ineffable Husbands are in an already established asexual relationship.





	Someone Moved my Stapler

Whilst he appreciated the effort, Aziraphale had spent the better part of the last month rearranging his little bookshop with the added surprises that Adam had left him after the Apoco-Don’t-Even-Try-It. Crowley had told him about the new collection after their sneaky swap-a-roo, but what he hadn’t realised is that there were new delights hidden throughout the already fit-to-burst shelves. He had a very particular system that barely even made sense to him, so it was a given that Adam had no chance to put the books in the ‘right’ place.

Every time Aziraphale thought he had it just right, he’d find another volume that just had to go just here which mean the whole shelf had to be emptied and re-stocked. At this exact moment, the Angel was hidden in the centre of seven piles of teetering novellas, anthologies, dictionaries, textbooks and everything else you could imagine. Plus three more. He carefully, and quietly, took his time picking each book to fill the next void on the shelf, pointedly ignoring the passive aggressive tutting and huffing of the woman who had mistakenly assumed that this bookshop was the sort of bookshop where one could shop for books (she’d been at the till for nearly ten minutes now – five more and Aziraphale would concede and serve her. Probably.) His tongue poked out ever so delicately as he double checked that the book in his hand matched neither the author, genre or published date of the seven books in each direction (unless of course it was a biography. Those have special rules.) He made it through two more books before the title of the next in the pile caught his eye; he had long since thought he’d lost this particular collectable. Distracted, he picked it up and began to leaf through the thick, stiff pages of the handmade, string bound passages.

Fond memories swirled into his minds eye as he glanced through (“Hello? Does anyone work here?” the lady called out, ringing the attention bell several times) bringing a small smile to his lips. It was many moons ago and Crowley had just returned from trip after losing the customary Agreement coin toss. The two supernatural entities were to meet at the usual riverside bench in the usual park at the usual time to debrief for their usual reports back to the usual Head Office. Honestly, looking back, Aziraphale was almost concerned at how long it took Heaven or Hell to even suspect any _fraternizing_.

*

The sun was barely still hanging in the sky when Crowley finally sauntered over, three hours late, with that ridiculous haircut that would only ever have a place in the eighties and Aziraphale was quite glad it stayed there. The plump Principality had long since run out of bread and the ducks were circling closer, shrugging off his attempts to explain to them the dangers of overfeeding.

“Oh good – you’re still here!” The Fallen Angel called out pushing his sunglasses up. “There was a most wonderful little bar in the airport” he stumbled over his own feet as he stopped himself from walking directly into the bench Aziraphale was sat on. Crowley gave a teethy grin as he flopped down in reply to the eyeroll he was receiving.

“Did you complete the... things…” Aziraphale glanced around suspiciously, talking in a hushed voice.

“Of course I did!” Crowley replied, much too loudly for Aziraphales worried temperament. “All done! Your charge was most inspired and did things which were good!” He leaned back as he gesticulated wildly.

“’things which were good’?” The Angel repeated, incredulously. “What… ‘things’ exactly did they feel inspired to do?” He almost did not want to know the answer, which was entirely correct.

“Don’t worry about it, angel.” Winked Crowley. “I told, told him.” Maybe that ‘one for the road’ was one too many. “I said… no I inspired him to ask a nice lady to dance.”

“That… That wasn’t…”

“-And then I inspired him to make beautiful… eh… _art_ … with his new nice lady friend.”

“Art?”

“Definitely that.” Crowley nodded. Technically this was not a lie, not that Crowley could lie to his angel. The human in question had created a most striking portrait that would go on to inspire many more who saw it, even after the artist had long since passed. It’s the content (based on a true story) of the portrait that the holier one will not have approved of. Aziraphale studied his companion carefully before thanking him for his efforts.

“I assume the temptation went off without a hitch, then?” He enquired.

“Oh yeah, I ticked that box first so I could concentrate on your one!” Again, this was not technically a lie. It wasn’t often The Agreement allowed them to kill (influence?) two birds with one stone. Aziraphale seemed to take it as a compliment which was all Crowley really cared for. “So everything is great and I am going to go home and pass out on my sofa watching Golden Girls because I deserve it.” He stood up with a flourish and swaggered off before Aziraphale could even say goodbye properly.

The Angel watched the disappointed ducks for a few more moments before standing up to leave himself when he noticed something out of the corner of his eye. Where Crowley had been sat, there was now a single book, tied up with twine. He picked it up and studied the cover; he didn’t recognise the title, or the author. As he turned it in his hands, a note slipped out;

_The guy also wrote a bunch of poems so I made him sign a copy for you -Crowley_

He always knew how to make Aziraphales happy – he could not stop smiling for days afterwards (even if he was a little worried at how exactly Crowley made him sign it).

*

“I think that woman just walked out with one of your illustrated bibles” a familiar voice snickered behind the Angel, breaking him from his daydream.

“What?!” He stood up and knocked over a pile or two as he heard the ring of the door shutting and watched through the windows as the lady walked down the street, his book under her arm. “Oh no.” He sighed. “Now I have to stay open until she returns it.” The Angel may be somewhat naïve, but he wasn’t stupid – he couldn’t ignore-cough-take his time with his customers and assume he wouldn’t end up with a few with lesser morals. Anytime a customer exited the store with something that wasn’t theirs, they were always struck with a sudden, debilitating feeling of overwhelming guilt and would usually be back within the hour to return the goods. What counted as ‘wasn’t theirs’ didn’t necessarily mean money had not exchanged hands, it just depended on how attached Aziraphale was to the item in question.

A chuckle reminded Aziraphale that Crowley had been behind him for who knows how long. He turned as Crowley picked up the book he had dropped in surprise. Even though he couldn’t see the fallen ones glowing, amber eyes for his sunglasses, he knew that he recognised it. Crowley put it on top of one of the remaining piles.

“Soppy git. Lunch?”

*

They hadn’t had to wait very long at all for the lady to sheepishly return her ill-gotten gains (although she did give an equally sheepish Aziraphale a good talking to for ignoring his customers) so the shop was shut within an hour as the two partners in crime wandered the streets of Soho trying to decide on where to go for lunch today.

Since the Apoco-Not-Today-Thank-You-Very-Much, they’d had a lot more time on their hands and had made it a mission to try every café, restaurant or otherwise food serving establishment in the local postcodes for lunch. They figured that by the time they had done that, the first ones would be under new management and they could just start again. It made for some interesting meals and helped spice up their days as it was never the same thing twice.

“I am so sick of tapas” Crowley moaned as Aziraphale suggested they try a new one on the corner.

“We haven’t had it that much?”

“Three days in a row now. And the four days before that.”

“Oh, but they were all very different styles!”

“It’s all the same.” They both rolled their eyes at each other and continued down the heaving street; Crowley with his trademark one-hand-in-the-pocket-too-cool-for-school-swagger with Aziraphale attached to the other hand, pulling ahead like a child in a toy shop, checking out everything just in case it was _the one_.

“Oh look!” Aziraphale pointed, excitedly, “a new sushi place!” He half-ran up to the window, dragging Crowley with him, to look inside causing a small-scale pileup on the pavement as people tried to avoid his sudden charge.

“That’s basically the same-”

“-they do curries!” Aziraphale cut him off, eyeing up the menu. He turned back around, and Crowley had raised an eyebrow and lowered his sunglasses in that sassy way that always made him giggle internally, so the Angel put on the puppy-dog eyes in return. There was a silent battle of intense eye contact as they each fought for superiority.

“… Do they have a duck one.” Crowley finally asked through gritted teeth, still maintaining eye contact.

“Yes.”

“Fine!” Crowley sighed dramatically, opening the door and motioning his giddy companion to enter first.

*

With great reluctance, Crowley agreed that the lunch of choice was, in fact, delicious and also hoped that this one would last long enough to revisit in the near future, yes maybe for takeout one night and yes he’d cover the bill this time.

“Talking of takeout.” Crowley began, “Any evening plans, angel?” He leant back in his chair, which gave a loud warning creak under the pressure. He surreptitiously shifted his weight a little more forward, just in case. A furtive glance of the rest of the restaurant didn’t instil much faith in the quality of the furniture considering how much the table had rocked and he spied two halves of a similar looking dining chair badly hidden behind a counter - he worried that threatening the chair to keep it together may give it a nervous breakdown instead.

“Actually, I do tonight.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale could hear the disappointment in his voice.

“Sorry it’s a collectors meeting tonight” He explained, “and I haven’t been to the last six meetings and they’ll stop inviting me soon!” Aziraphale was very concerned that his membership would be frozen if he didn’t turn up eventually, and then how would he find out about newly unearthed editions of bibles with typos? It’s not like there was some kind of dedicated massive forum that could be created where people could share news and ideas in real-time no matter where they were in the world via electronic devices.

“Fair enough”. Crowley made the mistake of trying to relax into the chair again which creaked pathetically as it began to tip. He rocked forward and grabbed the table and tried to style it out by standing up like that was the plan all along. “Going anywhere exciting?”

“I think I have managed to _inspire_ a nice trip to the National Gallery” Aziraphale looked rather proud of himself as he too stood, and they made for the door, apparently not noticing anything odd about Crowleys erratic movements. “I haven’t finished the menu there, so we can dine and discuss fine literature.”

“Do you ever stop thinking about food?”

“Do you ever stop thinking about well-aged liquor?”

“Touché, angel” Crowley winked as he opened the door for Aziraphale again. “Well, I will see you tomorrow then!”

They said their goodbyes and parted in different directions. Crowley headed back in the direction of his flat whilst Aziraphale wandered back to his shop to kill some time before his meeting.

*

The day was getting late as Aziraphale locked the door behind him with a minor flourish and quick-stepped along the street. Crowley casually stepped out from a shadow and watched the Angel speed off (he had gotten distracted again one he returned to the shop and had spent the last few hours reading a really good book about a laughing gnome when he realised he was meant to have left to be at the National Gallery ten minutes ago and it’d take a miracle for him to get there on time now). Once he was sure he had gone, Crowley walked over to the door and used his “spare key” to demonically miracle his way into the shop.

He had always liked the way the shop smelt – it reminded him of so many nights of joy and frivolity with his closest companion. Many bottles of wine had been drunk, many philosophical debates had been debated, and many times had they each passed out on each other’s shoulders. It was cozy and it was as good as home. Better than home. Crowley couldn’t help but smirk as he casually placed a book from his jacket onto a random shelf, moved Aziraphales stapler by an inch, and disappeared into the evening.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it - first fan fic in a veeeery long time and I really miss writing! Thinking about maybe developing my own AU type series of the Ineffable Husbands exploits throughout the ages, depending on what I feel like writing about! 
> 
> If you like my style, let me know if you have any prompts and I will see what I can pull out of the hat - I do prefer to keep them as asexual and a bit fluffy, but my headcannon also feels that if they wanted to explore anything like that, they would do it with each other because they trust each other implicitly <3


End file.
